The hand of sorrow
by Thegreatestzim
Summary: Lydia Lavellan is a spy sent by the Dalish to investigate the Mage Rebellion, but stumbles into a reality she wasn't prepared to face. What was once a dream of freedom and adventure becomes a reality of a war and she alone can stop.
1. Writings in blood

Her brave and reckless hunt had been a success. She'd cover the wounds well enough so she wouldn't bleed out on her way back to the clan – that'd be _anticlimactic_ – and chop off the paw of the bear, proof of her victory. Even if she wanted, she couldn't drag the beast back, with all the wounds it'd given her in return. So began her long way home (felt like a day, though no more than an hour had passed) to announce her victory. Sadly, all she could blurt out before collapsing was 'I DIDS IT!', something the others in the clan mocked her with for days to come. While she was out, the others had brought the bear to the camp and already started stripping him for resources. Aenorean, the master crafts-man, promised Lydia to make her a warm clothing out of the bear's hide if she succeeded, so she hoped he'd keep it.

The first face she saw waking up was the scolding, frowning face of Deshanna, whose expression said everything: _You nearly died, you know. I told you not to go alone. You underestimated the best, eh? Serves you right, stubborn child._ But beneath that daring look was a very impressed Keeper, one who would never admit her relief that the beast won't be giving the clan or the humans any further trouble. Her mother instincts wouldn't allow her. Not _yet_ , at least.

'That impressed huh?' she blurts out with half a breath, feeling that broken rib she didn't notice before, preparing herself for the hour-long scolding.

The Keeper scoffs, her mask intact. 'The others scouted the area, couldn't find any caves that could have been the bear's. Andruil blessed you, child.' Pause. 'I didn't want the bear dead because I was afraid we'd come across the den of a mother who'd been protecting her pups.' Did her face just soften? 'Being a hunter doesn't mean attacking the beasts of the forest, but protecting the natural order and the clan. We coexist; we're in their land, not the other way around. Remember the Vir Adahlen, da'len: Respect the sacrifice of Andruil's children.'

Her heart sank in. She didn't want to admit she never thought of the possibility for the bear to be just a protective mother.

'But like I said, you were blessed. The beast was a male whom we must have disturbed on our way here. Or he was attracted by the smell of our food' she added, tensing up. 'Still, you've caused great worry amongst the others, me included.'

Lydia's guilt kept increasing. 'I'm sorry, Keeper. I just...'

'I know you desperately wish to prove yourself, da'len. Master Fennas investigated your trap and he was…impressed.' Finally, Deshanna let out a proud smile that gave her confidence. The anger dissipated. 'And whilst you were asleep, the elders, the Master and I have agreed to give you your vallaslin, since your impatience nearly cost you your life' she half-joked, suddenly lifting the dread that came with her in the tent. 'Don't want you going chasing dragons to prove your worth to us.'

The young elf's shoot up with excitement and laughter. They've finally considered her reckless enough to admit she's an adult, then? She chuckled at the thought, hoping to heal faster so that she can finally see her face inked with Andruil's bow. And once she'd be truly respected by the clan, they would listen to her, and she'll have the freedom to choose for herself. Her thoughts quickly drifted away as she returned to sleep under the warm feeling of Deshanna's healing magic.

The days of meditation were ideal for her healing process. But three days of contemplation in isolation became quite boring after the first 30 minutes or so though. Trying to focus on the things she knew about the Creators, the history of the elvhen, the many ways you can carve a halla, the delicious broth Harea would make for her on the days when she was tired from all the practice…

Lydia then thought about how her own thoughts drifted so suddenly from one memory to another, even if they seemed unrelated. She thought about arrogant Taeriel and his stupid single-sided conversations in elvhen, used only to mock her. And his stupid, smug smirk. Then she thought about the beauty and grace of the halla, their wisdom they have when leading the clan from one place to another. And how one gave Taeriel a hoof in the face when he messed with them. _Truly wise creatures_ , she thought.

At some point she asked herself if all Dalish elves have to sit three days for their vallaslin saying nothing, without eating or drinking, without thinking nothing…Oh right, she shouldn't be thinking. Or no, she should, but she should contemplate the Gods.

Why _should_ she pray to gods that are no longer here? She couldn't help the doubt that it was all for nothing – the praying, the meditating, the respects they'd pay by marking the elves with the blood writings in the name of each Creator. Sure, the legends say that Fen'Harel locked them away and that the Dalish await their return, but when were legends ever true?

She looked at the animals of the forest and she saw Andruil. When she looked at the fire in their camp, the potions Harea would make for the sick and injured, and the children that ran around the tents, she saw Sylaise. All of Aenorean's works, the staffs, the swords and bows he'd crafted over the years, they all looked like June to her.

Those were the Creators for her. Their activities were given faces and names, nothing more. And never did she feel Andruil's influence when hunting a deer through the forests, or when catching a deer. It was always her skill and patience.

And if they did escape from their prisons, would they even recognize their people? Would they wage war on Fen'Harel, given he's actually real _and_ living as well? She scoffs at her own ideas. She's read the Tale of the Champion too many times already. It's been so hard to keep it a secret from the others…

She was so hungry and thirsty at first. Then she became so hungry she no longer felt hunger, only a void in her stomach that was eating _her_ instead. She was lucky she wasn't allowed to speak, because she felt grains of sand in her mouth and throat.

And so, three days of meditation became two days of incessant thinking, sleeping while pretending to meditate and one day of true contemplation, where her mind had been empty, mostly because all the thoughts she could have thought had already been thought. She also had a headache. And she was actually probably out of it because of the hunger the thirst. But hey, the third day went by the quickest.

The pain of the ink was much worse than she'd imagined. The young elf thought that the Keeper had a long needle that she stabbed her with on every inch of her body. Why she didn't stop at her head she couldn't understand, but it'd ruin the mood if she actually asked anything, and probably opening her mouth now would let go of all those _grunts_ and _ouches_ she internalized. She was lucky to be quite small, even for an elf, because there wasn't much back to cover with the ink.

Once finished, the Keeper blessed her in Elvhen and kissed her bald, inked forehead.

'You are now truly Lavellan now, da'len. One of the people…'

Then, together, they spoke softly: 'We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit.'

 _Never again shall we submit_ , echoed in Lydia's mind. Those were the words all members of the clan spoke with so much solemnity. _Bend, but do not break_. They remained in a tight embrace for what felt like an eternity.

She tried avoiding mirrors that day, being both curious to finally see herself with her mark of adulthood, but also fearing that the lack of hair would make her head look twice as big and bulky. She mostly stayed inside her tent, trying hard not to touch her sensible skin with anything. She wanted a mirror, but nobody came to visit her right after the ritual. She didn't want to go outside; the younglings were already mocking her with the ' _I dids it_ ' chant they made after her near-death experience with the bear. Successful hunt, I mean.

Luckily for her it didn't take long for Tara to find her way in her tent, greeting her with a loud gasp.

'Oh come on, it can't be that bad' Lydia lied. She knew it was probably really bad.

But Tara shook her head viciously. 'No, it's not your head. It's…oh _Creators_ …' Her tone was amused, like she expected Lydia to go on a rampage any time now.

Which she did.

Deshanna was waiting for this precise moment. The loud banging at the door of her aravel could only be Lydia's, meaning someone brought her a mirror and –

'What did you **DO** to me?' The elf yelled as she opened the door. _Huh_ , Deshanna thought, _at least she thought it would be polite to knock before barging in anyway._

'This is **not** Andruil's vallaslin, Keeper!' Her eyes were dark, worried and confused. Lydia was angry, for every right reason. In the Lavellan clan, roles within the community were suggested by the vallaslin. All hunters had Andruil's bow, in one variant or another, all mothers and heart-keepers had Sylaise's vallaslin, and Isenam, the halla herder, had Ghilan'nain's vallaslin. These rules were not as important in other clans, but Lydia knew how hers functioned and valued the marks of the Creators.

Deshanna got up from her chair cautiously, keeping her head high. 'Yes, I know.'

'Well I don't! I have no idea whose mark you just etched into my face.'

'You would if you paid attention to our lessons.' Deshanna huffed.

 _Is this what it is? Punishment for finding all the different models of vallaslin too boring and numerous to remember?_

Lydia seemed to calm down, shut the door to the aravel before locking her eyes with the Keeper's. 'Who am I?'

'You're Lydia, da'len, a member of the Lavellan clan.'

'Who does _what_?' she begged for an answer. It could be anything. What Lydia feared the most was that she could be just a mother, a 'heart-keeper' who cleans the home and cooks the meals for the clan. It was the most probable option, considering how much they tried to make her bond with various elfs from the clan. Scouting missions that had no clear objective and made her stay with one boy? Boy who'd have so much of their conversation already laid out, like they'd learnt a poetry and are now reciting it to her? Did they think she's stupid?

It was terrifying.

'Da'len, your vallaslin is that of the All-Mother, Mythal'. Deshanna's response held so much pride and compassion, as if this was the greatest gift that she could bestow upon Lydia.

It was worse than Sylaise.

Because Taeriel has Elgar'Nan.

That means…

'What?! This - This makes no sense, Keeper! I did everything you've ever asked, I'm a **hunter**! I _killed_ a bear on my own! I –'

'Yes, I know' the elder elf added, interrupting Lydia's rant. 'That is why I've chosen Mythal. Da'len, you are MORE than a hunter. You are a protector.

'You've involved yourself in something dangerous to protect your clan, your family, as well as the humans. Of course, it was a bad, reckless idea that brought you to us near death, but it seems you like a challenge.' Her chuckle is soft, and every word she says carries great weight. 'Mythal is the All-Mother, a compassionate god who passed judgement and ruled the elvhen alongside her half, Elgar'Nan'.

At the mention of the other deity, Lydia growls lowly. 'Yes, I _know_. You made sure I remembered exactly whose vallaslin you applied to your First.'

'Taeriel may have a temper, but his main interest lies in recovering our lost history. We are Lorekeepers, da'len. Unlike other clans, we harbour two hundred of the people. We are plenty, and one man who preserves the lore cannot also lead a large family', she speaks while coming closer to the girl, taking her hands and warming them. 'Another is needed, one who has the clan's best interests at heart, who will insure the future of the family, who can organize hunting and scouting expeditions and make sure our relations with the humans remains intact. This is the role of the _hahren_ , da'len. To share the lore and protect the people.

'You and Taeriel will make a perfect pair to help the clan grow. Help him find more about our past and protect it.'

Lydia can't help the tears falling down her cheeks. _Hahren_. Those words hurt, but they're true. It's something she's always known, but the fear of that responsibility takes over. 'B-but I don't love him…' she sobs quietly, letting her gaze fall down in shame. Is it so wrong that she doesn't want to the clan's glorified 'baby keeper'?

'I know da'len. It…it will come to you. I'll give you time, but please, give him a chance. Give _us_ a chance.'

The Keeper's heartbeat reminds her of something she can't remember, when this woman was more a mother to her than a teacher.

She can't help but cry at her own weakness now.

The clan's old Hahren died alongside the Keeper before Deshanna, her bond mate. Lydia was too young to remember, but she knows the story. An elf-hater disguised himself as a merchant and while he was speaking to the Keeper and Hahren, he took out a knife and gutted them both in the middle of the camp. Before everyone even realised what had happened, the murderer had three arrows sticking through his neck. Fennas, now the war-master of the clan, was too late then. He still carries the weight of their deaths, and since then, security had been increased and humans are treated with more caution. Still, Deshanna hadn't lost hope in the human race. If there's anything that her late mate taught her is that there will always be exceptions, and if they all raise their weapons to humans because of such exceptions, they'll be no clan Lavellan to speak of.

So Deshanna wept and mourned for months, her body covered in the typical Lavellan death ink, different from the one applied to the vallaslin. She took up the roles of Hahren and Keeper at the same time, and keeping a large clan calm whilst in the care of two toddlers showed everyone just how strong and willed their Keeper was. _Bend, but do not break._

The last hahren was the mother of the old Keeper, and the wife of the even older Keeper, now a shell of his old self, aged before his time at the loss of his son and wife. The grief had made him forgetful and incoherent, yet at times he still spoke the wisest words Lydia could ever conceive.

Now that she was of age, Lydia was to become the new Hahren. The roles were usually switched between genders in other clans, but it depended on the person. What made Deshanna think that she'd make a good hahren, that one person in a clan that shares the lore to the younglings and tends to the children? Sure, Lydia loved the old tales, the legends, but she didn't believe in them or tried to remember them word by word. But she wasn't a particularly fond of children, with their slobbering noses and annoying chants of ' _I dids it_!' only to mock her. She liked singing and always joined in whenever they gathered around the campfire and tried remembering the words of a song but always got them wrong. She also loved to dance, to forget herself in the movements and the beats of the drum and feel the warmth of another next to her. It was the only time being close to someone else didn't feel inappropriate.

Deshanna probably hoped her motherly instincts would kick in once she gives birth, and then she'll take her role as hahren, finding the other children in the clan more likeable. Which is another reason why she plans to avoid doing that for as long as she can.


	2. Prologue to a disaster

9:41 Dragon

In the last 4 years or so, Lydia's been overworking herself. She's personally gone on all scouting and hunting expeditions, if her condition allowed it, sometimes leaving the camp too soon, with wounds still not fully healed.

It wasn't that she didn't understand and accept her role within the clan. She was now officially the Hahren and Taeriel's wife (as hilarious as she thought it sounded, she couldn't help feeling dread from it). The term 'marriage', not the concept, was something her clan picked up from shems. Through the vows they spoke, the two elves would swear eternal love and respect, and then proceed on to making babies. _Ugh, I think I just puked a bit inside_ , she thought. Luckily, she's been stalling those vows for a while now, because of the tradition that happenes on the night of the bond.

Taeriel wasn't ugly and didn't treat her with disrespect. Actually, he'd started being nicer with her since she received her vallaslin, but his constant attention made things worse. They grew up together, studied together and were somehow siblings, even if they're not related by blood, and thinking of him as more was just… _wrong_.

Lydia can't claim that Deshanna alone raised her. The clan did. The halla keeper, the war-master, the craftsman, the hearthkeeper– they've all participated in raising her and sharing their knowledge with her. So every other child and young adult were brothers and siblings to her. Maybe that's why every attempt of hers for romance felt _wrong_. And maybe that's why they adopted the 'marriage' term, so that they wouldn't just be mates to one another like animals. A bond felt like it could be any kind of relationship. What, a friendship isn't a bond between two people?

 _Some thoughts I'm having_.

It wasn't that she didn't try to develop something more with a few of the other men in the clan. But she couldn't shake the feeling, and always felt that if she made a decision in this matter it would be sealed for good, even if the fondness would be temporary and she'd change her mind later. Which is why she's been stalling.

Maybe she'll fall in love with someone.

Maybe she won't have to have the kids with someone she would proudly call brother.

But nothing changed during these 4 years. In fact, it was getting worse.

She clearly remembered the smile of one human man who came trading, and left the camp _too soon_. She was so conflicted at the warmth she felt seeing his smile, or the uneasy fragility her legs would suddenly gain when around them.

Once, one such young merchant, on their way to the camp, asked her name – probably only to be polite and fill in the awkward silence. The way her heart went pounding insanely then made her feel so ashamed, she couldn't blurt out anything and just _stared_ at him. As soon as they got the camp, she hid in her tent.

One of the things the clan hated most were human-elf relationships. Since the child of such a couple would always be human, the elder members of the clan spoke of this forbidden act more than any other. And since their clan openly traded with humans, they interacted with them more than other Dalish, so preventions needed to be in place. Creators forbid for an elf girl to be swept of her feet by a mysterious, handsome human traveller with _arms soo big_ …

' **Lydia**!' snapped Tara next to her, ruining her trail of thought. It felt like it wasn't her first attempt at getting Lydia's attention. Tara eyed her carefully before giving that all-knowing smirk of hers. Whilst Taeriel was the annoying older brother, Tara was the sister she could speak with about anything, freely. They were nearly the same age - Tara being born shortly after the clan rescued Lydia. She was one of the heartkeeper's apprentices, a healer who used potions and herbs to fix people.

'The Keeper called a meeting with the elders, thought you should know' she whispers, turning suddenly towards the edge of the camp where the largest tent was set. It was where Deshanna would meet with the eldest members of the clan and would discuss important matters with them. And if Keeper Deshanna needed advice, then it was serious.

Lydia always took advantage of such meetings, listening in case they ever decided to speak about her or, in case her destiny _really_ is inevitable, at least learn a thing or two. She would pace around the campsite until they all began discussing, and then hide in the trees to eaves drop. It was rude, sure, but what if it was a life-threatening situation to be discussed?

Like now.

'What is the meaning of this, Deshanna?' one of the eldest men spoke. He was the old Keeper's father, aged beyond recognition after the death of his son and wife. He was once a Keeper too, and is considered the wisest, albeit the most inapt and sometimes forgetful, of all the Lavellans. Lydia couldn't remember his name.

'I assure you, it is urgent. A decision must be made, one that could influence our relationship with the other clans.'

The others nodded, and spoke quietly to each other. For all their wisdom, the elders hardly spoke loud and mostly just voiced their opinions without being able to actually hear what others thought. Not all of them were this old, but these one particularly spoke the most.

Deshanna spoke loudly for them, which helped Lydia make out all her words perfectly. 'As you all well know, we were denied the last Arlathvenn because of our continuous trading with human cities, even after…' her voice died down, and all of them were silent. She clears her throat. 'The others think we are losing our touch with our people, that we aren't dedicated enough! But we live for the people and our traditions, and our compromise keeps us safe.

'I have an opportunity that could prove our dedication to the Dalish, the other clans. As you have noticed, as of late, the number of mages has increased, across all clans.'

She was right, Lydia thought. After she got her vallaslin, at least three more children developed magic until today, and whilst the clan struggled before to keep magic in the line of the Keeper, now ordinary parents had unexpected mage children. It became Deshanna's greatest stress as of late. The Lavellans sometimes interacted with shemlen Templars, selling staffs and weapons to the order. But also three years ago a conflict between mages of the Circle and the Templars started, and more and more visited the clan for weapons and supplies. You couldn't exactly say no to them.

'And besides all this, more and more Templars and Circle mages that stumble upon us beg for our help, our aid. We owe them nothing. But I fear the repercussions.

'There are rumours of a Conclave invoked by the shem's Divine to end this conflict, which has been keeping me up at night. But if things go in the favour of the Templars, we must know how to act with our children before it's too late.'

The silence is deadly. Lydia tries to shift on her branch but she can't move without being heard.

'I propose we send someone to this meeting. Someone capable, who will learn the outcome of these peace negociations and return with the news, so that when the decision is enacted, we aren't taken by surprize.' She adds with a grave voice: 'Our children will not be stolen from us. I will **not** allow the Templars to drag our mage-born children to their shemlen towers where they _will suffer._ At least three younglings depend on this outcome, and who knows how many more will manifest magic in the years to come. The world seems upside down, but we need to take action to protect ourselves.'

'Where do you know this from, Keeper?' asked the Hearthkeeper, a gentle woman whose voice Lydia would recognize anywhere.

'A traveller had stopped by yesterday. She bought a halla horn, and in exchange offered me this knowledge.'

The reaction of the others was odd. They seemed repulsed by the idea, and a lot of voices started speaking on top of one another, and it was difficult to make out anything anymore. Then, the strong voice of the war-master rang: 'A traveller? Keeper, you trust a traveller with the fate of one of own?'

'For what it's worth, I believe in this old woman.'

'For what it's worth?! Deshanna, a human stranger exchanged knowledge for a halla horn and you act as if it's normal? Since when do we listen to 'rumours' or exchange our sacred halla's horns for them?'

'She was no ordinary woman, Fennas. Her words bore great wisdom, no ordinary human speaks like her.'

Whatever that meant made everyone suddenly shut up. The young elf was definitely confused now. She'd spied on these meetings before, but never before could she not make sense of the topic of conversation like now.

'The question is not whether she is to be trusted or not, but who should we send.' Silence. 'The Conclave will take place within the Frostback Mountains' – 'You mean in Ferelden?' – 'Yes Harea, nearby a village named Haven, there is a temple - ' – 'I've heard of this shem temple for their false prophet's ashes, Keeper' – 'Fennas, allow me to finish.'

Then, out of the sudden, a voice she didn't expect to her. 'Who do you suggest, mother?' Taeriel's question felt out of place. A child amongst adults.

Deshanna continued her explanations. 'There are three options. We may send an official, diplomatic agent, such as Taeriel, my First. But the shems may not want to have one of our own present. Or we may send Fennas. In case things get difficult, he can fight his way out of the situations and return to us in one piece. Or send him with a team.

'But there's a third option, which would be the safest, yet most dangerous one. We send a spy, someone disguised as a servant who will sneak inside the temple. But since we don't know anything about the temple –'

That's all Lydia needed to know. She hopped out of the tree and left the tent filled with arguments and questions behind, pondering to herself. All the others in the camp were in their tents or aravels, and she alone watched the full moon shine through the thick clouds.

The next day, Deshanna grabbed her portion of dried fruits and cold halla milk and sat near the died-down campfire. The sun was barely rising and the cold of the night still kept everything moist, but the soft lights of a dying fire could still be seen in the embers. She knew she should expect the young hunter to show up at any time, but Lydia was there as soon as she sat of the tree log. This wasn't what she was expecting, or hoping. She just wanted to have her meal in peace…

'I must go.' is all she said. Anyone else would have asked her, _What, now? Where are you going?_ , but Deshanna was no stranger to Lydia's 'secret' peekings of their meetings. It's not like she was actually trying to hide anything. The others in the clan knew not to involve themselves in something that doesn't concern them, not like Lydia.

'You know I'm good at this Keeper. I can hunt, I can move slowly and quietly. I will swift through the Free Marches and Ferelden and get to the temple without anyone even realising.' She spoke with a conviction that made Deshanna proud. 'I will disguise myself as a servant and – and I'll be out of there before they know it.

'If I go now I have time to learn the structure of the building, find entrances and exits and-'

'Da'len, _calm down_.' Deshanna's sigh was heavy. She really hoped not to have this conversation after a sleepless night and before she even got the chance to eat. But she wasn't the only one who went through a white night. Lydia must have been waiting for the chance to speak with her.

'Please, Keeper, you said it yourself, a decision must be made, _quickly_. You want me to protect our people. What better way than to protect our mages and their families? Or should you let them capture or kill your son or let a bunch of elf-hating shems kill Fennas? He's still just one person. You need a shadow, in an out, a hunter with patience who hunts for information.' Her eyes were red, s _he must have read or written all night, then_. Maybe she rehearsed this text until it was all she could hear, keeping each word where she's written it. Her lithe body was shaking from the cold of the morning but didn't let her voice falter. 'I can read and write in the common tongue, I know more about shems than Fennas or Taeriel, and I'm an excellent shot. My arrow never goes stray, my leg never slips, my hand never hesitates. _Please_.'

She's fallen to her knees, burning the Keeper with her gaze. She wants to sacrifice herself by going into unknown territory. She obviously didn't listen to the entire debate then, doesn't know Deshanna reconsidered and thought it was too dangerous to send anyone at all. But Lydia isn't asking the chance to do something dangerous. She wants to _leave the clan._ And it's breaking Deshanna's heart.

But she must remain strong. She must not falter.

' **No**. I will loose no one to another's fight, we keep to ourselves and prepare for the worst.'

Instead of desperation, Lydia's gaze is replaced by anger and determination. She had this part prepared as well. 'If you won't allow it, I'll leave anyway. And I _will_ return, have no doubts. This is my family, Keeper, and for family I will take the _Vir Banal'ras i_ f I must.'

Vir Banal'ras - the "Way of Shadow." Assuming it when a debt of blood must be repaid, such hunters dedicate themselves to vengeance and nothing else. _But what debt of blood?_ _Where did she learn of this_? Dalish assassins were a rumour even to Deshanna, who believed this dark path abandoned. And for a second she felt that Lydia not only carried the hatred of the clan for the death of the hahren and her lover, but also the future hate for the loss of the mage children, or the clan itself. _No, I must not allow her to go astray._

'Da'len, that path is not for you to follow' she says quietly. 'If you wish to hide in the shadows and hunt our animal prey from afar, very well, but we are at peace, at least for now. Allow me time, Lydia, to think. You need to think it other. And sleep.'

Lydia didn't want to use the Way of Shadow argument, but she knows the Keeper will give anything to keep her pure. 'It's her fault', she thinks, 'she's the one who painted the Goddess' of vengence vallaslin on my skin.'

After two days of isolation and internal struggle on both sides, the Keeper finally gives in. She must hold the hope that her beloved daughter with a golden heart will return and will not let the shemlen's ways poison it. She kisses the hunter's forehead and gives her all any necessary equipment, supplies, maps of the Free Marches, or Ferelden and the Frostback Mountains, as much as she's acquired, coins and encouragement. She hopes they are enough to protect her and bring her back to her family.

Tara holds her in a tight embrace for so long, it feels never-ending. Even Taeriel embraces her as a brother, maybe thanking her for what she's doing and for saving them both from a bond they didn't really want.

With a heavy heart the Keeper watches young Lydia leave the clan behind.

 _But the Asha'bellanar is never wrong. She's never wrong…_

Imagine my surprise when I sneak inside the Temple of Sacred Ashes and then I find myself tied down, threatened by shemlen, with no memories of where I was, or - or what I was doing and _why does my hand hurt so much_ …

My name is Lydia Lavellan. And I must have made some big mistake…


End file.
